


Agape and Eros

by annabeth



Series: Under the Golden Sea [10]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Clergy kink, Father Leroy, M/M, Omorashi, Pliroy, Smut, Underage Sex, Watersports, Wetting, feelings tm, pissing, runaway Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 07:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth
Summary: Just like he might have expected, sixteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky was kneeling in one of the pews, his head bowed, his hands folded, looking for all the world like the perfect penitent.Father Leroy knew better.





	Agape and Eros

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blownwish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/gifts).



> Not much to say about this, it's just what it says on the tin: underage sex with a dash of piss and clergy kink. I stole Father Dubois (again) from [Blownwish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blownwish). Runaway Yuri is probably hive mind at this point, but I first came across him in Blownwish's fic, so there's that.

It was late, after hours, and Father Leroy was getting ready to leave the church proper and go home to the rectory, where he would make a simple yet nutritious meal—he might just pop a Hungry Man into the microwave, actually—and then he would sit, like he did every night, cross-legged on his bed and open his Bible. His prayers soothed him, especially after a mass; he found public speaking stressful despite his desire to lead his flock down the right path.

His calling had been a surprise to his parents, but Jean-Jacques had always felt a keen closeness to the Lord. Alain Sr. had asked him once why, when he was a teenager, singing in front of a rowdy crowd of people had not made him anxious or uncomfortable, but speaking the Word made him always need time to himself after.

That was back when he led his youth group at St. Anthony's in prayer every weekend after the morning service. He hadn't been able to explain it then and he couldn't now. He just knew that after mass, he loved to curl up on his spartan bed and pray until his eyelids were heavy.

Sometimes he read, too; his current book was by Pope Benedict XVI, titled _God is Love_. It spoke of Eros and Agape and Father Leroy desperately needed a dose of agape tonight, because sometimes he needed reminders that his life was part of a bigger purpose, that he had been Called, and that it was his duty as priest to his congregation to teach them the ways of love and peace, of hope and the light of God.

Sometimes, though, he longed for something beyond the solitary life he led in his little bare room with the crucifix hanging above an old tube television that received exactly two channels: the news, and EWTN. He had moved to America because he had felt strongly that Americans needed God's guidance, and—yes, and since he'd been here, he'd been trying to lead one particular lamb of his flock back to the straight and narrow, and just like he might have expected, sixteen-year-old Yuri Plisetsky was kneeling in one of the pews, his head bowed, his hands folded, looking for all the world like the perfect penitent.

Father Leroy knew better.

"Yuri," he said softly. The votive candles that were lit left the church in a warm glow; the flames flickered as Father Leroy spoke. The young man looked up, and Father Leroy was struck anew by his beautiful eyes—eyes that seemed designed by God to speak directly to the loneliness in Father Leroy's soul. He had to stop thinking like that. He was a priest, and Yuri was a-a—not a child exactly, but much too young for some of the thoughts that crept in at night when Father Leroy couldn't sleep.

He could see how green those eyes were even in the limited light dispelling some of the nighttime gloom in the church. He could also see the wicked smile that curved those lips—sinful lips. Lips that also intruded on Father Leroy's dreams.

If he awoke, hard and aching and thinking of green eyes and that wicked mouth, he would try to redirect himself, but often found himself thinking instead about the first boy he'd loved. The first _person_ he'd loved, really. Isabella had been an afterthought, an attempt to accede to his parents' view of him, and try to make the idea of marriage and children work. It hadn't, though. He'd loved Izzy, but it just wasn't as blinding strong and knee-weakening as what he'd felt for Otabek Altin, the kid in his youth group who taught him to smoke cigarettes and give blowjobs.

When he'd become the leader of his youth group, he'd shunned Beks on purpose. He wasn't proud of it. But he'd felt so much damn pressure to conform, to be Good. And Beks Altin—he wasn't Good. He was Temptation, and what Jean-Jacques needed in his life at that point was Grace, not Temptation—so he'd started dating Izzy.

He'd broken up with Izzy without ever even kissing her. In fact, he'd never kissed Otabek, either—things had progressed so fast, and it was like a meteor falling to earth, streaking hot and then coming to a crash landing and never anything but those clumsy blowjobs and one lousy attempt to fuck. He couldn't even call it making love. They hadn't gotten far—only one finger into Jean-Jacques's ass and then a realization they needed something stronger than spit to go on. _With spit and a prayer,_ his grandmother had always said, but she obviously hadn't meant gay sex, Jean-Jacques had reflected later.

So now, when he'd wake up from dreams of Yuri, he'd end up thinking about Beks, and the love that had never had a chance to die and the first kiss he'd never had the chance to experience, and it was a circle of fire in his mind, always leading back to green eyes. Green eyes, and lips red as apples and as tempting as Original Sin.

"Heya, Father," Yuri said, breaking into Father Leroy's reverie. He shifted on his knees and Father Leroy thought about _other things_ he could do on his knees, and then he had to think—hard—about the Holy Virgin Mary watching her son Jesus being crucified in order to will down his erection.

"It's late, Mr. Plisetsky," Father Leroy said. "Shouldn't you be going back to the group home? Mrs. Seiver will be looking for you, won't she?"

"Nah, I told that old bag that I liked to stay at church. Pray for her immortal fucking soul, all that. She bought it, the idiot."

"But it sounds like that's what you're doing," Father Leroy said in confusion. This boy always left him muddled and confused, like he was a dog chasing its own tail. He told himself he hated the feeling.

Then he had to pray to God the Father about the sin of lying, and ask forgiveness for his continual inability not to lie to himself.

"The truth is, I'm running away," Yuri confided. "See?" He held up a duffel bag. It was clearly almost empty—Father Leroy knew that the kids from Madame Portia's Group Home for Youths didn't have much, but he'd be surprised if Yuri had anything in that bag besides maybe an extra pair of jeans and some contraband, like cigarettes. He'd busted him more than once for smoking out by the rectory, in the garden, where the smoke rose up and infiltrated Father Leroy's bedroom.

Father Leroy was pretty sure that was intentional, and had asked himself, on occasion, how Yuri knew which was his bedroom. It wasn't like the kid had ever actually been _in_ his bedroom.

Well, that he knew of. He was also pretty sure that Yuri was a pickpocket, and so he might have found his way to Father Leroy's room. It wasn't like he had anything to steal, though. Even the cheap trinkets from his mother weren't worth a nickel, not to someone looking for something valuable to part from its owner.

"All right, come on," Father Leroy said. "I'll have to drive you back; it's late, and it's dark out, and—" He was thinking about whether he should borrow the church's Oldsmobile for that purpose when Yuri broke in and said,

"No! Father, I can make it home by myself. But I have these prayers to finish—for my Mama back in Russia, God rest her soul. I think she's dead," he added in an aside. He wiggled and as Father Leroy got closer he could see Yuri tighten his leg muscles, almost as if he was—he _was_ squeezing his thighs together. That was a movement of time immemorial, if Father Leroy had ever seen one.

"Please let me drive you home," he said. "It's clear that you need the washroom and the church is locked up for the night. Father Dubois has the keys tonight, I'm afraid."

"Oh, that's all right," Yuri said. Father Leroy was now close enough to see the sharp, unholy gleam flickering like the candlelight in those green eyes. "Besides, that shithole will never be my home. Pray with me, Father." He bowed his head again.

Father Leroy knelt near him, about a foot away really, to try to calm his racing heart, cool his nerves, and keep his head about him so close to the boy he dreamt of. Those dreams did not even come close to the reality of this boy's beauty—or the Temptation he offered. It was worse than what Beks had offered, back when he was a young teenager. Because back then he could have blamed it on hormones. Now he was almost thirty, and he didn't have any business thinking this… child… was hot. _But you know he's not a child, not really,_ the devil on his shoulder whispered.

But he _did_ think Yuri was hot, and thus, he bowed his head too: _Please, God the Father, and my Savior Jesus Christ, grant me the power to resist this temptation, to remain pure in my heart, and pure in my love for You—_

A sound interrupted his prayer. It was just a solitary drip, at first. Like maybe one of the sinks was leaking. But Father Leroy knew that was impossible—he'd just told Yuri that the washrooms were locked.

He was about to wonder if he'd accidentally tipped over the wine, forgotten to lock it back up, when the drip became a series of drips, increasing in frequency and speed. He glanced down—he was praying, after all—and his eyes widened.

His gaze shot to Yuri's head. He couldn't see his face, not really, just a lot of fine blond hair. Yuri didn't move; he still appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be praying diligently, like a proper penitent should.

"Mr. Plisetsky!" Father Leroy hissed, trying not to shout. "Are you aware that you—ah, that you're—"

Those green eyes were suddenly focused on his, bright and filled with mischief.

"Oh, Father, don't look so shocked," he said, as the drip became a loud splattering sound on the floor of the church. "I just couldn't hold it anymore."

"But—I—" Father Leroy couldn't find the words. He wanted to scold, but was that the right thing to do? Scold a child for having an accident?

But Yuri was sixteen. He was old enough to hold his urine, right? Surely this had never happened before, at least, not where Father Leroy had ever been present.

But maybe it was a medical condition. Maybe he was sick. He went to reach for Yuri, and there was that smile, a cat's gleam in the dark. The splattering continued, and Father Leroy found himself staring at Yuri's knees in something akin to awe. Where was his horror? he asked himself, even as he watched the puddle spread. It had soaked the denim at both of Yuri's knees already. If it spread much further, it was going to seep into his own robes.

Why didn't he jump to his feet? he asked himself, as he stared in that same trainwreck-style fascination at the puddle. When he glanced at Yuri's groin, it was like a river spurting out of the front of Yuri's jeans, the fabric too inundated to hold anything more. Yuri let out a long sigh of relief and relaxed back against the pew, and the torrent slowed back to a drip as the sodden denim continued to leak.

"What are you doing?" he found himself asking, voice hoarse. He glanced at Yuri's face, and—shit, he cursed, even though he knew he'd need to pray it away later. His body tightened just from the satisfied, almost gloating, expression on Yuri's features. His cock thrilled to the sight and hardened in his robes. And some part of his hindbrain sat up and took notice and wrote down, _yes, pissing, yes, okay_ and Father Leroy knew he couldn't do the smart thing, the _right_ thing, and chastise Yuri for it. And just as he knew that, he suddenly knew that Yuri had done it on purpose.

"I had to go," Yuri said, shrugging. He got up and plopped his drenched ass on the seat of the pew and smiled. It was a golden smile, completely at odds with the naughty thing he'd just done. "I'll clean it up, if you want." Another flicker of a smile. "Maybe."

"But—" Father Leroy wanted to be scandalized, but he couldn't find the right emotion. He couldn't pin down the proper response—because who pissed their pants, _deliberately_ , in a church? "I'll have to take you back to my room for a shower. D'you have a change of clothes?" The duffel was thankfully untouched on the seat of the pew.

"I thought you'd never ask," Yuri said with a twinkle. "And I have a pair of jeans. Underwear. Socks. That's it. There hasn't been a new t-shirt donated in my size in awhile."

"I might have something," Father Leroy muttered. "Come on." And Yuri flowed upwards with such grace, much like his urine had flowed with such force only minutes earlier. He made a wet squelching sound with every step, and Father Leroy didn't know what to do about his sneakers—it was unlikely any of his would fit the kid.

So they walked in silence to the rectory, and in the darkness, Father Leroy stopped, tugging Yuri to a halt.

"Take your jeans off here," he said. He wondered how he was going to explain the rather impressive puddle in the church come morning, but he didn't want Yuri to track too much of it into the rectory too. "And your sneakers."

"Underwear too?" Yuri asked, and Father Leroy knew his horror was written on his face when Yuri laughed. "Relax. I'm just kidding, Father. For right now, anyway."

"You will only be taking your underwear off for a shower," Father Leroy said. But he wondered about that, more and more, after Yuri left his jeans in a damp heap by the rectory steps and climbed them in underwear that clung even more than usual to his bulge and his ass. Jean-Jacques wanted to get into that ass, all of a sudden. He wondered if Yuri would let him.

Yuri was also barefoot, and he had truly elegant feet, leading Father Leroy to wonder, also, if he liked feet too, or just because they were _Yuri's_. They climbed the steps to Father Leroy's room, and once inside, he was pointing, ready to say, _the washroom is through that door_ , when Yuri stripped out of his underwear and t-shirt. He stood there, in a beam of moonlight, nude and glorious. His cock, young and flushed, was fully hard. His nipples were already peaking too.

Father Leroy swallowed; his own cock was still stiff against his thigh, uncomfortable as heck but he hadn't wanted to adjust himself in front of a teenage boy—or maybe it was that he hadn't wanted to do it in front of Yuri specifically, because he had those… _feelings_ about him.

"Can I sit down?" Yuri asked, gesturing to the bed. But Father Leroy imagined doing laundry at ten at night because Yuri had dripped piss on his blankets and shook his head. He quickly began to undress, and as he did, he knew he was making a big mistake, that he didn't know if God would ever forgive him for, but there was Yuri, Temptation—but also possible Revelation—in that gorgeous form and he was not about to turn it down if that's what Yuri wanted.

He tried not to think about the fact that the pissing had something to do with weakening his resolve, because that way lay madness, but he just unbuttoned, and unzipped, and finally he was naked, surrounded by clothing he should have hung up neatly in the wardrobe by the door but what the hell, what was one more sin?

And then he backed Yuri up against the wall, adjacent to the television, and as he felt all that warm, warm skin come into contact with his own, he realized the crucifix was directly above their heads. He closed his eyes and buried his face into that neck and shoulder, and smelled a combination of sweat, almost floral shampoo, and piss, bitter salt on Yuri's skin. God was judging him, but he just. Couldn't. Deny his baser desires anymore.

Yuri gripped the back of his neck, almost hard enough to hurt, and dragged his face towards his own.

"Kiss me, Father," he said heatedly. Forcefully. Unable to be denied.

"Surely you'd rather—"

"It's not my first rodeo, Father Leroy," Yuri said. "But… is it yours? Is this your first kiss, Father?"

Jean-Jacques didn't deign that with a response. He just did what Yuri expected, what he wanted, what he himself _craved_ , and brought their lips together.

It was a surprise. Yuri's lips were slightly cool, and chapped, but somehow they were soft as they moved against his. Pliant and gentle, like a proper tutor should be. When Yuri opened his mouth and licked at the seam of Jean-Jacques's lips, he got the hint and granted Yuri access. Yuri didn't ask permission; he just devoured JJ's mouth, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, nipping at it, then releasing it and stroking his tongue throughout the cavern of JJ's mouth without any kind of reservation whatsoever.

And as he did it, his hand came down between their bodies, found JJ's cock with unerring accuracy, and began to lightly draw a finger up and down its length.

JJ shivered and his cock twitched and he gave in, reaching down in much the same way and it was probably clumsy, and unpracticed, when he grappled with Yuri's still faintly damp hardness and finally got his fingers curled around it. It had been years since he'd touched a dick other than his own, and that time it had been Beks, showing him what to do, how to touch him, how hard to stroke him, all things JJ was going to have to learn anew with Yuri.

But he wanted to learn, so he began to move his hand, slowly at first, listening for the gasps and feeling the way Yuri's chest heaved against his when he got it right. It quickly became apparent that Yuri liked a soft touch, but a quick one; JJ adapted, holding Yuri's dick almost loosely but pumping it swiftly even as Yuri discovered that JJ liked the squeeze of a hand on his cock to almost hurt even as much as he liked the movements to be slow, drawing out the pleasure. They were so different, he marveled, even as his body took over and did what it was made to do: breath sawing in and out his lungs faster, his cock jumping even in that tight grip, and Yuri's own breath was hot and rapid against the hollow of his throat, cooling the sweat that had pooled there, even as he worked JJ up, up, and then _over_.

He came, and as his hips juddered forth and trapped both of their hands, he felt his hand pause on Yuri while he rode out the wave, and then, when he could get his breath again, steady his knees, he sped up his fist even more and turned his wrist on one upstroke and Yuri just about _screamed_ , first in a litany of _fucks_ , then Russian curses that dovetailed with his orgasm and grew quieter as his cock finished releasing all over them both.

JJ leaned hard on the hand that was against the wall, and he stretched it, trying to keep his feet and hold Yuri up, and in doing so, he knocked the crucifix from its nail and as it clattered to the floor, he didn't even bother to watch it fall.

He knew what it meant. So he gathered Yuri close to him, and even though there was still dry piss on his skin, he lay him gently on the bed and climbed in after. He kissed Yuri lazily, still learning how, and knowing that his heart was fit to burst.

He was in Love, and it wasn't Agape, and it wasn't with God, or Jesus, his bridegroom.

No, it was with Yuri Plisetsky, and as the teenager drifted off, JJ realized he'd found his Eros, and he wasn't in love with Otabek Altin anymore. No, Yuri had blasted those feelings to smithereens, bored a hole in JJ's heart and taken up permanent residence there.

Father Leroy set the alarm on his watch for an hour earlier than normal because, tomorrow, he was going to have to sneak out a teenager with a penchant for trouble. But whether Yuri was in trouble, or Father Leroy was, he couldn't say.

He didn't sleep right away. He just laid there wallowing in his new feelings and listening to the soft cadence of that beloved breath.

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://helm-puppet-trash.tumblr.com)!


End file.
